“Inju (good),” grunted Red-head, in Apache. “I am called Micky Free by the soldiers at Camp Apache. You shall call me Micky, and I shall call you Cheemie.” “How did you lose your eye, Micky?” “By a deer. Three or four years ago I shot a deer with an arrow, and knocked him down. I thought I had killed him, but when I ran and grabbed his head he fought me and struck me with his horn in the eye. Old Miguel has only one eye, too. He lost that in battle.” “Who is old Miguel?” “He is a White Mountain chief. There are Miguel and Pedro and old Es-ki-tis-tsla and Pi-to-ne. They are for peace.” “Inju,” grunted Jimmie. While they rested and ate and drank, Micky kept a sharp look-out. Every now and again he mounted upon a rocky ledge and lay there, peering. “I see smokes,” he said, coming down the last time. “I do not think they are meant for us. The Chiricahua are signaling to each other. But we had better go on, Cheemie, to a cave I know of. We will sleep.” Yes, there were smokes, far back on their trail: smokes that signaled “enemies.” This was well, because with enemies around, the Chiricahuas would not risk following the trail of a boy. So that noon Jimmie and Micky slept in Micky’s cave, which was concealed high up in the side of a canyon. They entered it from above. From the mouth they might see a long distance. “In two days we shall cross the Tonto country,” remarked Micky. “That is where we turn east for Camp Apache and the White Mountains. We will have to be very careful again. The Tonto are bad people. They are outlaws. When an Apache gets bad, he joins the Tonto.” IV THE CANVAS SUIT MAN The country was steadily growing wilder, with much large timber. For two days Micky had been leading on and on. The Chiricahuas did not seem to be pursuing, and Jimmie was certain that he had escaped from them. He wished that he might have said good-by to good Nah-da-ste, who had taken care of him; and to his friends Nah-che and Chato, and some others; but of course that had not been possible. They might have known that he could not stay being an Apache. Now on this the third day from the cave Micky suddenly stopped short and examined an object beside him. They had been following just below a gravelly ridge, so as to be out of sight. Yuccas and bunchy grass grew here, and a few cedars, and the sun was warm. “Tonto sign,” spoke Micky, pointing. It was a band of dried grass knotted around a yucca leaf. Only eyes like those of Micky would have seen it; but Micky saw everything. “How do you know, Micky?” “Because I know,” answered Micky. “That is the way the Tonto tie their grass. A White Mountain would have tied different, and so would a Chiricahua or a Pinal. And the same with piling stones or writing signs on rocks or bark. It means a Tonto war party has passed here, and tells other Tonto to follow. See――there is the trail.” “Shall we hide, Micky?”